Just Three Letters
by Niji-chi
Summary: It's only three letters. Barely a word, barely something that matters. But those three letters can hurt. Break. Kill. Feliks Łukasiewicz just wants to pursue his dreams, not be forced to live this lie... PolLiet
1. Chapter 1

"Stupid fag!" A tall, blonde-haired man snickered, earning the chuckles of his peers. He harshly stepped his foot onto the chest of the blonde laying on the floor, and a choked sob could be heard. The pursuer just laughed even harder, stoping down to knock the breath out of the smaller below him.

"P-please.. stop.." The scrawnier man begged in a strangled voice, straining to hold back his tears. He couldn't let the others see him cry, he had to keep it together. He'd only get beat up more, harder. They wanted to see him cry, they wanted to see him break. But he could stand, he could live this out, right?

No. No questions. It didn't matter if he couldn't. He had to. It didn't matter… His resolve couldn't break. Or else he'd never survive.

"Stop? That vhat you vant?" The taller jeered. His ice blue eyes bore into the bluish-green of the one's below him for a moment, and the foot was removed. "Come on. He's not vorth it…" Him and his gang of oppressors made their way down the empty hall, leaving the distressed and bruised European to lay on the floor.

Even now, with no one around, he wouldn't cry. He wouldn't let his resolve break.

He stood, shaking slightly from the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Limping lightly, he carefully made his way to the bathroom, not caring if anyone was in there.

In all honesty, Feliks was gay. But he thought that college students wouldn't have the mindless hatred of middle schoolers. How horribly wrong he was.

He tugged at his collar, feeling like his air was restricted. He felt as though he was being suffocated, felt as though the very oxygen he needed was against him here. Everywhere.

His white button up shirt was ruined, stained with the mud of the other's combat boots and a bit of blood. He looked back into the mirror and realized that a trickle of blood drip from the corner of his mouth. He wiped at it with the back of his sleeve. It wasn't as if the shirt could be used after this, anyways.

He wore what was considered neutral clothing these days, not wanting anything to give the bullies any more to work with. If he were to wear skinny jeans, or any jeans in general, he'd be called a fag.

If he were to wear any shirt with short sleeves, they'd see the scars. If he were to wear any shirt with a design, a logo, anything, he'd be shoved against the wall and laughed at.

He even made sure his shoes and underclothes were 'normal'. 'Straight'. No sense in taking any chances.

So he stuck to white button ups and black slacks, like he was dressing for a chorus concert. (But it wasn't if he could even join that class, though he did love to sing.)

Feliks was utterly alone in his suffering, too. No one cared that he was abused. No one else had nearly as bad a beating as he usually did. Some people were beat up, yes, but only on occasion. For him, it was every day. Every day he had to deal with Ludwig, or Gilbert sometimes. Though the albino was easier to avoid.

He slumped against the sink and let his head fall, staring intently at the rusty silver drain until his urge to cry was gone. He couldn't! He couldn't give them the satisfaction that they broke him, that they truly did hurt him. He'd NEVER give them that!

He had given them everything else, but he'd never give them that satisfaction.

He straightened up and looked his reflection in the mirror, studying his own eyes for fear. No fear. If he wanted to leave, that is. He could always stay here until the others left.

And give them THAT satisfaction?

Never.

He was an adult, for God's sake! He was 21, old enough to buy and drink alcohol, (Which, when he was especially distressed, he would drink down an entire bottle of expensive vodka a that he couldn't afford) old enough to smoke, old enough to drive. He had his own job, his own apartment. Why should he be treated like a bad child here at his college? It wasn't even fathomable that these other ADULTS couldn't see that. Oh, but it was, too.

He narrowed his eyes, leaning closer to the mirror. His warmth breath fogged and blurred his image. Movement from a stall behind him snapped him out of the moment.

A fairly tall and lanky student stepped out, obviously nervous. He was shaking slightly. Feliks remembered the blood on his shirt, the mud. He was probably frightened.

"Are you all right?" The other asked carefully, stepping foreword with worrying in his emerald green eyes.

"Why should you care?" Feliks bit out quietly, running his fingers though his hair out of agitation. Good God, even to someone he didn't know he was harsh.

"Why shouldn't I?" He looked over his shoulder as the brunette stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm, and the Polish man flinched.

He could have said anything. He could have said that he was wrongfully picked on and hated by everyone. He could have said that he was bad. But he said something stupid. "I'm the fag.

Author's Note:

Hello! New story... This one will be a little slower than my others...

NOT crossdressing Feliks? Weird, right?

Also... It will get happier! And this is just the prologue!


	2. Chapter 2

Feliks had fled soon after, not wanting to subject himself to any more wrongful accusations were he to be caught alone in a bathroom for such a period of time. And he did not want the other student he met to have to deal with any such problems.

He trekked down the hallways quietly, bag slung across his chest. He was probably already late to class, but it was of little importance. The teacher never noticed him anyways.

Feliks was majoring in design, which was probably one of the reasons he was tormented. He wanted to become a fashion designer -he hated that he had to wear things so unfashionable as it was. There were a multitude of other men in his fashion classes, yet he was the one that the Germanic brothers had decided that they hated. He honestly had no idea why he was the one.

In fact, Ludwig's best friend was a student in his class. He was a cheerful Italian (who made gorgeous dresses) by the name of Feliciano, and was one of the kindest, most accepting people in the entire school. (Feliks thought that he may be the kindest person in the world, but that thought was fleeting.) How the auburn-haired man could stand Ludwig's anger was beyond the Pole.

He slid quietly into the classroom, taking a seat next to a brunette Hungarian who sometimes gave him helpful advice. She smiled knowingly, mouthing 'Ludwig?'. The blonde nodded and took out a notebook (it was My Little Pony, but he usually kept it hidden inside another of his binders), beginning to take notes on what was written on the board. Today they were going to be making a cocktail dress. Ideas readily flushed through the Pollock's mind; he was already envisioning a little silver getup to be paired with some black pumps…

"Feliks, are you listening?" Elizaveta asked, looking a bit worried.

"Y-yeah, sorry. I zoned out a little." He awkwardly smiled and shuffled a few papers that were slid between pages in the notebook, standing.

"Already having epiphanies?" She teased, following him towards the worktables on the other side of the room. He laughed whitely, taking his usual place. There was just the perfect material for him to use on the shelf over there. He'd need about seven yards for what he was thinking…

"Hey, Feliks! You're getting lost again!" Liz joked, bumping her hip into his. He looked up and smiled, this time brighter.

"Sorry, I've just been thinking about the dress. This is exactly what I need to relieve my stress…"

"Oh? I think I know of something better!~"

"What?" Feliks looked over to Liz, who was making lewd motions with her hips. "Oh, you know, a little action. Best stress reliever ever, I promise!"

He flushed red and looked down at the weak sketches that he had made on his paper. "P-please, Liz… I…" How could he just come out and tell her that it bothered him?

"I'm sorry, Fel…" She frowned. "You know that… that I'm with Gilbert… I tell him to stop! But he won't… he won't listen…" She sighed heavily. "I'm sorry…"

"No, it's fine. I just get… It's fine!" He put on a smile, even though it was fake, and walked over to the wall of material. If he wasn't mistaken, the silver should be right on the left. He reached out his hand to grab it but was instead met with someone else's pale appendage.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Feliks!" Feliciano exclaimed, smiling. "You want the silver, too? I'll cut it for you!" He picked up the roll and took in back to his seat, which was only a table away, pulling out his scissors.

"I need, uh, seven yards…" He mumbled, looking down. Why was he Ludwig's friend? He was so nice, it was hard to believe that he'd want to be friends with such a bully…

"Here you go! Seven yards! Hey, I just realized something!" Feliks took the material and looked at Feliciano questioningly. "We BOTH could be called Feli! Isn't that funny?" The Italian giggled and began measuring out his own length of material, the Polish student meekly returning to his seat with the silver fabric.

He really was confused at Ludwig's antics. How could he befriend the most obviously homosexual student but ruin the life of someone who hid it with all of their heart? It made no sense. Because Feliks truly tried to hide it. He tried to blend into the crowd, fade into the background, but nothing seemed to get Ludwig's sights off of him. What could the German gain? Feliks kept his composure, he kept his resolve, so there was no reaction. Was that what was desired? A reaction of some sort? Maybe if he gave them that satisfaction of breaking him, gave him the only thing that he had kept safe and whole, he would be left alone.

Was something so simple as that able to save him from this... this life of misery? As dramatic as it seemed, that was what the blonde felt. Misery. Pain. Endless torture. No matter what he tried, what he did, how unbearably hard he tried to find a reason for all of this, there was none. He was paranoid. Jumping at every noise, checking corners and feeling watched even in the 'sanctuary' of his home. He expected to hear that dark laugh, see that sneering, smirking face in every mirror. Everywhere he went he was plagued by these thoughts, cursed with the ever-present fear of rejection.

"Feliks, are you okay? You've pricked yourself with that needle at least twenty times now," Elizaveta asked gently, pulling the Pole's hand away from the half-finished dress he had been stitching sequins onto.

He looked up, startled. "Oh... yeah, I'm fine..." He sighed and looked over the dress, frowning blandly. It wasn't his best work, though he did seem to work better when he was sad. Maybe Ludwig had some sick idea that his beatings would help the younger student pass his class. That was highly doubtable, though.

"Cheer up, Fel! Do you want to talk to a counselor or something? maybe tell one of the teachers?" She offered.

Feliks sighed heavily and shook his head. "This isn't high school, Liz. I can't just tell the teacher or talk to the counselor. Both him and I are adults. I'll be fine," He shot back, his words bitter. She looked a bit hurt but nodded nonetheless, turning back to her own work.

He hadn't meant to be so harsh, because he knew that she was trying to help, but it had just happened. Ludwig had turned him into someone that he wished he never had to see.

**Author's Note:**

**Hey everyone! Sorry that this chapter took a little longer to write, and isn't very long. I needed to cut it off here because of the events that happen next. I'm sorry that Feliks seems to be overreacting to all of this, but I too have been bullied and this is sort of how it feels. It was never near this bad for me, but it sucked a lot. And I always felt paranoid. *The moar you know***

**Also, can I have a little constrictive criticism on my ability -or lack thereof- of describing making a dress. I cut most of it out, because I figured that you all wouldn't want to have to read all of that. But please, tell me if you think it seemed too rushed.**


	3. Chapter 3

"Get up!"

Feliks groaned and curled in on himself, biting his bloodied lip to keep from crying out.

"I SAID GET UP!"

He shakily obeyed the commander, pushing himself off the floor and standing, however haphazardly.

"Stupid crossdressing fag. I should kill you and make the world a better place," Gilbert smiled. "But than I vouldn't have the fun of beating you up like this."

"Wh-why? Why can't you just-"

"Just vhat? Just leave you alone? You think you can pull a stunt like this-" The albino gave a shove to the Pole's pink dress, smirking at the whimper he elicited, "-and not have anyone notice? You look stupid! You're not a girl! You're a man, dammit! Act like one! Stop prancing around in your goddamn girly clothes and getting fucked in the ass and live God's vay- the RIGHT vay." He gave another solid punch to Feliks' already bruised and beaten face, and he fell. Gilbert spat on him before walking away, laughing.

Feliks felt his insides clench, and he willed himself to get up with much effort. Then quickly, he ran to the bathroom, pushing open a stall door and hurling himself down over the toilet. He felt nauseas, but he couldn't force himself to empty his stomach.

It wasn't as if he had eaten enough for there to be anything there, anyways.

Tears fell fast, hot drops of liquid acid burning down his cheeks. He choked out a sob.

"Get off the floor, please," A solemn voice whispered from the door. Feliks turned around to see that same brunette as last time -the one whom hadn't judged him or picked on him or gotten nervous- was standing there, offering a hand. He suddenly felt very self-conscious and realized his mascara was probably running down his face, and his heels were surely broken now, and his dress looked as though he had thrown it in the washer with a cat-

But that wasn't all that important, now was it? He awkwardly pulled himself into a standing position, with the use of the other's kind offering, sniffling. The brunette placed his other hand on the Pole's shoulder, a comforting gesture in a bitter tundra. He felt himself relax.

"What happened?" They asked tenderly, leading the other out of the stall and towards the sinks. Skilled hands wet a paper towel and took it to Feliks' face, wiping off blood and smudged makeup.

"I… I wore this to school today."

"And?" His voice was so soft, so sweet and careful as it urged the blonde to spill what had happened. There was no rush, no cruel undertones. It was the voice of a savior.

"G-Gilbert put me in my place…" God, how pathetic he sounded, back to the verge of tears as the mere mention of the German. His voice was barely a whisper, scratchy from yelling and crying.

"No. No, that's not right. What he did was _wrong_." The sudden strength in the brunette's voice made Feliks flinch.

"Why do you say that, when no one else believes you?"

"Because _I_ believe, and I know that it's right." He stepped back and gave Feliks a once-over. "C'mon, I'll give you a ride home. You can come to my house and have some tea. You need it."

It wasn't as though the Pole could protest, being that this man had surely saved him from embarrassment and what would have been known as the worst day of his life (if it wasn't already). He felt a sudden pang of guilt. Here he was, being foolish, and someone was kind enough to take pity on him. He was only burdening the other, wasn't he.

"And don't think that I pity you. I don't," The other said as he led him out into the hall. It surprised Feliks, whom was lost in his own thoughts. It felt almost as if the the had read his mind.

They reached a plain black car, something like a Fiat- Feliks couldn't tell that sort of thing. The Pole was ushered into the passenger's seat, the other taking the driver's side.

"What's your name?" The man asked, pulling out of the lot and away from the bad day. Feliks relaxed even more, sinking into the seat.

"Feliks… And you?"

"Toris."

"Thank you… so much, really. I…" He searched for words, not finding any. Toris didn't seem to mind.

"No, really. It's fine. I just…" He sighed. "I've seen this happen too many times. I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

The words rang out through the car eerily, and Feliks couldn't help but become more and more curious about this Toris and his generosity. But he didn't have too much time to wonder, because they reached the supposed apartment. Feliks followed lamely behind as they went up a flight of stairs, Toris unlocking the door and holding it open.

"I warn you, my roommate is home. She's a bit on the… strange side." Toris motioned for him to follow as he entered what seemed to be a kitchen. Feliks took a seat at a small table, watching as he prepared the tea. He scanned the living room and kitchen for the supposed girl, but saw no one. Toris took the seat across from him and slid a mug of steaming liquid over to him.

"Thanks…" Feliks smiled.

Someone walked in, and the blonde turned around to see a frighteningly beautiful girl, glaring at him with intensity. "Oh, you've brought home a guest," She spat. Toris looked away, sighing.

"Yes, Natalia. This is Feliks. Can he borrow one of your dresses?"

Feliks felt his face heat up, and he sunk a bit lower into his seat.

"Fine. I don't care. If you touch my Vanya, I'll kill you though. That goes for him too." He swore she whispered something like fag under her breath, but he pretended to ignore it.

"I really am sorry about her, she's a good friend of mine's sister. She just needed a roommate, and everyone else is too scared…" He trailed off.

"No, it's, like, fine," Feliks said, smiling. "And, uh, why did you…?"

"The dress? Sorry…" He blushed, and Feliks couldn't help but think how cute he looked. "I j-just assumed you preferred to wear them, you don't-"

"No… I do… Thanks, again." He smiled brighter.

"Okay. Here, let me get something…" He stood and ran off before the Pole could say anything, but returned moments later with a bundle of green material. "My room's the first one on the right. Natalia is in the bathroom right now, so you'll have to change in there… S-sorry…" He blushed lightly and looked down.

The blonde took the dress and shook his head. "It's fine. Thanks a ton."

He stepped through the hall quietly, maneuvering the apartment that was so much like his own easily and poking his head into the man's room. It was clean and well organized, the walls a bland grey apart from a lone drawing of a sunflower and a full-length mirror. He shut the door and stripped, pulling the comfortable green dress on. The heels and pink dress were abandoned in a small pile.

He grimaced as his reflection came into view, sickly yellow and purple bruises in an offhand splotch. His lip was split, eyes still red and puffy. He sighed, inspecting now his figure int he dress. It fit well-

The door clicked open, and Toris awkwardly edged in, shutting the door behind himself. He looked at Feliks through the mirror, meeting his eyes.

"Sorry to just, you know, barge in and-" Feliks turned around.

"It's okay! You don't have to keep apologizing."

Suddenly, Toris moved forewords, and he kissed the Pole.

Author's Note: So… Strange and weirdly awkward-ness, with drama at the beginning and a bit of fluff at the end. Sorry that these chapters are so short, but this whole fic was just me getting my fix of PolLiet/LietPol… It only has two chapters more and then an epilogue, bringing it to a total of five chapters. But I hope that all of my readers enjoy this! SInce there was a bit of fluff.

Is Toris being… assertive? -faints-


End file.
